Reclamation
by AzureSkye23
Summary: Forgiven and given a second chance Mairon may be, but now he faces the challenge of recreating a life for himself in the Blessed Realm. But there are some who think that Morgoth's former lieutenant should be in the Void along with his master, and are willing to make that reality by whatever means they have to use. Sequel to Redemption.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

Mairon knew that the rings under his eyes were beginning to match his hair, but couldn't quite bring himself to care. He knew as a Maia he could go without sleep longer than the Mirröanwi, but even he was reaching the limits of his endurance. He wanted to sleep, indeed, was supposed to be that way at the moment, but the darkness that still haunted him was strongest at night, and he had decided that staying awake was the best remedy for his nightmares.

There was no way to tell night from day in Mandos, no need for time, but even though it was inhabited by the dead, it had its own rhythms. Since the Ainur who served there still had friends and family who stayed in the outer world, even this place that was untouched by the concerns of the living followed the cycles that Arda moved to. It was night in Valinor, and quiet now in Mandos, most of the Maiar who served here resting or gone. There were enough remaining to make sure everything stayed calm, but for the most part the fëar were left to their own thoughts during this time.

Mairon was not yet truly serving here, but thanks to his nocturnal wanderings he already knew his way around almost perfectly. He wandered the corridors, looking at the tapestries and learning the shortcuts as he kept moving, trying to outrun both sleep and his memories. Wandering fit his current mood. He felt uprooted and adrift.

While he knew that his plan to serve in Mandos working with the Secondborn would work very well in a couple hundred years, possibly a bit sooner if he was careful, at the moment he was unable to. The first reason, obviously, was the fact that he didn't want anyone recognizing him. Quite a few had seen him during his service as Morgoth's lieutenant, and even more had seen him at the end of the War of Wrath, after he had surrendered to Eönwë.

But the second reason was larger. Mairon doubted he would be able to help anyone in his current state. He was too broken. Having been forced to re-live his worst memories at the hands of the Valar had nearly driven him insane, and if not for Námo and Nienna's help, it probably would have. Considering he hadn't slept in weeks, it seemed he could barely take care of himself, let alone help someone else.

Wrenching his thoughts away from just how long he had been awake, he glanced at the nearest tapestry to orient himself. Upon seeing what it showed, he mentally swore harshly, paling as he did so. When first he had come across this tapestry he'd hurried past after merely glancing at Vairë's creation, determined to never look at it again. Now, in his sleep deprived state, he couldn't tear his eyes away from it.

He wasn't quite sure how Vairë was able to make such perfect representations of what occurred in Middle-earth, but at the moment he didn't really care. All he knew was that it _was_ perfect: that moment on the bridge of Tol-in-Gaurhoth, when he had been on his back with teeth in his throat, forced to surrender to Lúthien. Yes, it was flawless, down to that half-defiant, half-terrified gleam in his own eyes. He had known he would be punished for the ruin of Tol Sirion; known that Morgoth would be furious with him for surrendering to Lúthien.

What he hadn't known was that Beren and Lúthien would actually succeed on their mad quest to retrieve a Silmaril; hadn't known that Morgoth would take out his anger and hatred over that fact on him; hadn't known that the punishment meted out would be much worse than he could have ever imagined…

Mairon slid down the wall, hands gripping his head frantically as the memories of what had been done to him overwhelmed him.

"_So this entire humiliation can be laid at your feet,__" __Morgoth continued. __"__And I am in no mood to forgive this failure.__"_

_..._

"_What do you want?__" __Sauron finally spat out, voice flat and emotionless, still fighting to recover from Morgoth__'__s psychic assault__. Gothmog grinned. _

"_From you?__" __he asked, voice almost a purr. __"__Nothing but your screams.__" _

_..._

"_Do you want me to snap this one too?__" __he asked the barely conscious Maia. __"__Leave you helpless? You already cannot walk, do you want to be unable to use your arms as well?__" __The dark haired Maia frantically shook his head. Gothmog__'__s grin widened. _

"_Then beg,__" __he whispered._

_..._

"_Ah, Mairon,__" __Morgoth__'__s voice was smooth and gentle. __"__Why do you make me do this?__" _

_..._

"_We have decided to be lenient to those who have made mistakes in their pasts and are truly repentant. But your chosen master knelt in this very spot and begged for mercy, deceiving us all.__" __Manwë __spoke with a much colder tone now. __"__We will not be deceived again.__"_

_Oh, no, Sauron thought frantically. Oh, please, no._

_..._

He tried to push the overwhelming wave of sensations away, but they were relentless, tormenting him with their intensity. He felt himself slipping closer to the mental brink he'd always feared Morgoth would forcibly drive him over one day. He gave a short, ironic laugh. Even Morgoth had never quite managed to drive him insane, but it seemed his own weakness would finally do it.

"Mairon?" The voice held a soft note of concern, and the Maia raised his head to meet Námo's questioning eyes. He'd been so lost in the hell of what had once been his life he hadn't heard the Vala's approach. His haunted gaze held the attention of the eldest of the Fëanturi as he realized he couldn't continue as he was any longer.

"Save me or destroy me," he whispered hollowly, "but I can't take this anymore."

Destroying every mental shield between him and the world, he let the walls he'd salvaged back together fall to nothing, and surrendered completely to the judgment of the Vala before him. He would have turned against on his memories and very self next, intent on destroying them as well in an attempt to end it all, but Námo caught his mind gently and refused to let him. Mairon turned his attention back to the Vala, feeling Námo's will completely encompass him, and as he did reality shifted…

_He was lying on the cold floor of Angband with Morgoth looming over him, laughing. _

"_Ah, Mairon,__" __the Dark Lord chuckled. __"__Did you really think you would get away from me? Did you really think you could cringe back to the old life you__'__d left and be free again? You sold you soul to me, Mairon, and I own you__–__now and forever. No matter what you do, however hard you struggle to be free, you will always be mine.__" __He leaned down, reaching for the helpless Maia._

Don't touch me_, Mairon thought desperately. _Don't touch me, don't touch me, don't touch me–

_His terrified plea broke off as Morgoth was suddenly blasted backwards, away from the Maia. All Mairon could do was stare as N__á__mo was suddenly there, stepping over him to stand between the Maia and the one who claimed ownership of him. The Lord of Mandos radiated a power unmatched by the figure of Darkness Incarnate behind him. _

"_You do not own him,__" __he said, voice quiet but deadly. __"__He has been redeemed by mercy and kindness, and by his own actions. You are merely a shadow of a thought, and have no power here. Begone, and trouble none again!__" __With an unholy shriek, the figure of Morgoth disappeared. N__á__mo turned back to Mairon, and as he did, reality shifted again. _

_The wounds that Mairon had suffered at the hands of Morgoth and Gothmog were suddenly as fresh as they had been that horrible night long ago, and he found himself helpless on the ground, in agony and unable to move. Golden eyes silently begged for help from the Vala that had already saved him once, and N__á__mo knelt by his side in response. _

_Mairon began to cry out in pain as N__á__mo placed a hand directly on his ruined neck, but it changed to a gasp of relief as healing warmth spread through the damaged muscles and abraded throat. When N__á__mo removed his hand, all that remained were the two silvery scars that Mairon carried in reality. N__á__mo then gathered Mairon in his arms, careful of the broken bones and cauterized whip strokes. As he did so, reality shifted again, and they were back in Mandos, Mairon still safe in N__ámo__'__s arms. _

Mairon realized that everything that had just happened had simply been inside his head, and with a long, broken sigh closed his eyes, relaxing in the Vala's embrace. He felt incredibly fragile, more than he had before, but also immensely better and completely safe. The demons that stalked him had been silenced, the distance between him and the brink of insanity had grown, and now Námo's care and protection stood between it and him. For the first time, Mairon truly believed that he could be reclaimed from the Darkness.

With that new-found belief, and Námo's presence still warm in his mind, he found his thoughts drawn to another matter. He had not yet given his oath to Námo, as the Vala had told him not to do so until ready. He'd been confused by that, but had spent the time deciding what he wanted to swear. There was a standard oath that most of the Maiar had given their chosen lord or lady, but Mairon had already sworn and broken it, and had decided against swearing it again. He was no longer the same as he had been when he served Aulë, and could not be the same again. He wanted the oath he swore to reflect that. He needed his oath to Námo to show that he was leaving behind his old life of fear, pain, and hopelessness.

Tonight seemed to be a break with the past. He realized that the words Morgoth had spoken had been a reflection of his deepest fears, fears that had been silenced now. Creating a new life for himself here would still be difficult, but when had his life been easy since leaving the Timeless Halls?

Mind made up, Mairon began to speak, barely above a whisper, eyes still closed. The long-syllabled words flowed smoothly as he promised in Valarin to serve and obey. He knew that technically he should be kneeling or standing, but he was far too tired—and too comfortable in Námo's arms—to move. Besides, as everything else about this oath was unconventional, he didn't see why he should care.

He fell silent, and a breath later Námo began to speak, responding to what Mairon had sworn, promising to protect and care for him. It was mostly standard: the Maiarin oaths had originated from the need of protection against Melkor's predations, but some of it was geared as a response towards the more unusual things Mairon had said.

When Námo was finished, silence reigned until Mairon yawned, sleepless weeks finally catching up with him. Námo smiled, and ran his hand through the Maia's dark hair, then picked him up. The soft rocking of Námo's steps lulled Mairon almost to sleep; he nearly didn't notice when he was laid down on something soft.

A new, feminine voice caught his attention, and another set of soft fingers ran through his hair. They belonged to Vairë, he realized. He had been tucked into bed between the Vala and the Valië like a child scared of the dark. Mairon smiled softly at that comparison, and yawned again. He slipped into sleep, feeling safe and loved.

* * *

**So what we've all been waiting for...okay, maybe just me, but I hope you'll review and let me know how you're liking it so far! Redemption is one of my favorite (and most popular) stories, so I hope that the sequel will not disappoint! **


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Mairon? You need to wake up now."

The soft voice penetrated the haze his mind had slipped into, but he disagreed with it. He knew of no reason to leave this feeling. He was warm and safe, and both of those sensations had been hard to come by in his life. He was going to savor them while he could.

A light came on, visible though his closed eyelids, and the voice continued.

"It's morning, Mairon. You do have to get up, you know."

Mairon grumbled inarticulately and rolled over, burying his head under the pillows. Morning or not, he still had no intentions of waking up.

"I'm not sure he's gotten much sleep in the past month," Námo said softly to Vairë. "And last night was certainly not easy for him."

Mairon stiffened in protest as the covers were pulled down to his waist, but then strong hands were massaging his shoulders and back, and he relaxed again with a happy sigh. The soothing touch, rather than sending him back to sleep, kept him grounded in the waking world, and soon enough he found himself alert. When Námo stopped, he rolled onto his side to look at his lord. Vairë had gone, leaving only he and Námo in the room.

"Are you awake now?" Námo asked, humor lurking in his grey eyes.

"That depends," Mairon responded instantly.

"On?" Námo asked.

"On whether you'll continue if I say no," Mairon returned, losing the battle against the small grin forming on his face. Námo chuckled, rolling his eyes as he gently pushed Mairon back down. Mairon smiled fully. Briefly he thought how different this would be if it were Morgoth, not Námo, behind him. It would have been one of his worst nightmares come to life, Mairon quickly decided—nothing like the absolute trust and security he felt right now.

Mairon felt the bed sink just a little as Námo sat down, and the two-handed massage became a simple circular motion with one.

"Mairon?" Námo said softly.

"Yes?" Mairon turned his head to look at his lord once more.

"I have to ask: out of all the Valar you could have chosen to serve...why me?" Námo asked. Mairon buried his head in the pillows again.

"It's embarrassing!" he protested, voice somewhere between a whine and a wail. Námo didn't say anything, but Mairon knew he was still waiting for an answer.

"You cared," he finally said, still speaking into the pillows. "You held me while I had to tell of my past, and then you held me until I calmed down. You could have just left me with Nienna, but you didn't. Then that night, you came looking for me and held me again. Oh sweet Eru, this makes me sound like a stray _puppy_… But you were affectionate. I _wanted_ that. I _needed_ that. I knew that someday I could be useful here, but I also knew that I would be useless for a long time, no matter where I went. And I knew, above all else, that I could never again serve a Vala I didn't believe cared for me."

Námo didn't answer, but pulled Mairon up and into his embrace. Mairon hid his still vivid blush against his lord's chest, secretly pleased by the Vala's gesture.

"With you, I feel safe," he whispered, feeling Námo's arms tighten around him. "And right now, that's what I want most."

It was some time before Mairon's blush faded enough for him to raise his head again, but eventually he did, only to meet his lord's fond, amused gaze. Námo gently ran his fingers down the sensitive outer curve of Mairon's left ear, a gesture made only by the Valar to a Maia who served them. There were several quirks in the fánar of the Ainur that were due to their being formed before the Firstborn awoke, and ears more sensitive than those of Elves or Men was one. Since it was the Maiar who chose which Vala they served, the gesture had come to mean that the Vala was fully pleased with the Maia's decision. Mairon blushed again, but could not help smiling in delight.

"Do you want earrings?" Námo asked Mairon. "I know they were not used when you were here before."

"Yes, I do," Mairon replied.

When the Elves had first arrived in Valinor, they had become confused trying to keep straight which Maiar served which Valar. Formalized clothing had first been proposed to differentiate them, but Lady Vairë's people especially had not liked that idea, already accustomed to dressing themselves as they pleased. Eventually, earrings had been decided on, and the different metal and gemstone combinations of the seven small earrings the Maiar wore in their left ear indicated which Vala a particular Maia served.

"Very well," Námo said. "Let me to go get a numbing agent from Estë, and then I will be back." Mairon nodded, and Námo left him briefly. Upon returning, the Vala carefully held a small wad of cotton dipped in anesthetic solution to Mairon's left ear.

Beginning just above the already existing hole where Mairon had previously worn earrings, Námo carefully placed seven small rings made of silver, each set with an onyx bead, into the Maia's ear. By the Vala's power, each of these were sealed into one continuous circle. The column of earrings climbed to just below the pointed tip of Mairon's ear. The space from the tip of his ear to where it attached to his head was left bare, as it was where the espoused Maiar wore a thicker band indicating their married state, finding such more convenient that the finger rings favored by Elves.

Mairon stayed perfectly still, with his head level, while Námo inserted the earrings, deeming the slight pressure and pain still present despite the anesthetic not difficult to endure at all. When Námo had finished and healed the newly formed holes, the Maia looked up and smiled. He was grateful for the normality indicated by the earrings, and he was grateful to Námo for treating him in such a way.

"Come along, my child," Námo told Mairon warmly. "Let us find something to eat, and then, if you are willing, I have a task in mind for you."

"Oh?" Mairon asked as he followed his lord down the hallway.

"You were friends with Maedhros, were you not?" Námo asked him. Mairon nearly stopped dead.

"I am not sure if 'friend' is the right word," Mairon said, quickening his pace to catch up to the Vala once more. "But I felt we could have become so, had we the opportunity to be more open with each other. Why?"

"Because of all the sons of Fëanor here in my halls, he is the most receptive, now that he has realized that neither he nor his family will be thrown to the Void," Námo explained. "If he could be brought to understand that those named in witness to their oath would release them full willing, he could begin to heal, and I feel it likely that the Ambarussa would be willing to follow their older brother's lead. Curufin, Caranthir, and Celegorm seem to remain set in their ways, much like their father, but the other three can perhaps be reached."

"So you wish me to speak with Maedhros?" Mairon asked, somewhat hesitantly.

"Yes," Námo replied. "He needs someone to befriend him, and since the two of you already had somewhat of a friendship, I feel you would be the best one to do so. As well, it is unlikely he would feel you are looking down upon him or judging him."

Mairon was silent for a time after that, and Námo let him be, patiently waiting for the young Maia to come to a decision. Námo knew that Mairon would feel highly uncertain about actually beginning to work with those who dwelled here, yet he knew that although Maedhros would be a difficult project, Mairon was up to it. Additionally, it would give the Vala a chance to ease that extreme perfectionism Mairon had been driven to.

Finally, Mairon raised his head again and met Námo's eyes. "I will do it," he said firmly, and Námo smiled.

* * *

**Bit short, yes. And fluffy. But hey, Mairon deserves a little bit of fluff after what he's been through...Please review! **


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

Maedhros didn't look up when soft footsteps approached him. He knew they belonged to a Maia sent by Námo to speak with him. This same thing occurred whenever he was allowed to leave his cell and wander the Halls. No one outside his family was allowed out at such times, of course. No one needed the havoc that would cause.

The footsteps paused hesitantly, absently catching Maedhros's attention. All of the Maiar who had come previously had no qualms about breaking his reverie.

"Maedhros?" The uncertainty in the voice matched the footsteps, but that wasn't why Maedhros whipped his head around.

"Mairon!" he said in surprised delight. He went to give Mairon a hug, only to remember that as a fëa, he couldn't do so. But Mairon returned the embrace without any difficulty, and Maedhros again belatedly recalled that as a Maia, Mairon would not have a problem interacting with a fëa as though the or she was still housed. Maedhros was still the taller of the two, so he pushed back the Maia's hair, noting the new earrings, and tipped Mairon's face up.

"I knew the war had ended, but I didn't know what happened to you," Maedhros said. "I'm glad you are alright."

"Me too," Mairon said with a wry grin. Maedhros laughed.

"You're free now," the Elf said softly, watching the first unconstrained smiled he had ever seen Mairon give break across the Maia's face.

"I am," Mairon said with quiet joy. "I really am." Maedhros pulled him close again.

"Good," Maedhros said into the Maia's hair. He then pulled back to study Mairon again.

"So you're serving Námo now?" Maedhros asked rhetorically. Mairon nodded, blushing slightly.

"And that's...alright? It's working out well?" Maedhros asked somewhat awkwardly. Mairon laughed.

"I've never understood why you Eldar were so wary of Námo," the Maia said. "He's really very nice. And yes, it's working out well—at least between the two of us. I'm not really serving here yet."

"Why not?" Maedhros asked with a frown.

"Because too many people here know me," Mairon explained.

"I suppose that makes sense," Maedhros conceded. "Here, let's sit down." They sat on a bench by a small fountain that was located in the crossways of two large halls.

"So Námo set you on me, did he?" Maedhros asked. Mairon looked faintly uncomfortable.

"That's not how I would phrase it," he said. "He asked me to speak with you because we were friends once. He wants to help you, you know."

"I suppose," Maedhros sighed. "But do I deserve to be helped?"

"Do I?" Mairon countered with a wry smile. "There are plenty of people who would sooner forgive you than me." Maedhros looked down.

"I tried to tell people about who you really were," he said. "But no one would listen. They all said I had made up a sympathetic story for you to keep myself sane, or they thought you were lying to me. Many felt I never really escaped Thangorodrim."

"You didn't escape, Maedhros," Mairon began quietly, not quite looking at him. "I thought you had, and you escaped Morgoth, but I didn't see the chains you had already been bound with.

"The Oath..." Maedhros began, knowing exactly what the Maia was talking about, then stopped, not sure what to say about it; not sure how to make Mairon understand the emotions he had about it, emotions he wasn't even sure of.

"What has the Oath brought you?" Mairon asked bluntly.

"Pain. Destruction. Regret," Maedhros answered in a whisper. "But it was necessary..."

"Only because of your father," Mairon pointed out. "And that is why you fear to break it now. Because it still ties you to your family."

"It is not only that," Maedhros said. "It is all I have left...If I forsake it now, everything that has been done since the Darkening is worthless. All the pain, all the destruction, all the regret has no meaning." He shook his head. "I am sorry. I cannot." He stood, and Mairon suddenly found his hands very interesting. Maedhros looked at him, then ran his fingers down the side of the Maia's face.

"You should come visit me again, though," Maedhros said. "I'm curious as to your story." Mairon looked up and smiled.

"Of course I will," he said.

"Good," Maedhros replied, smiling as well as he left. At least he'd gotten the Elf to smile, Mairon thought moodily, staring at the small fountain they had been sitting by.

"I fear my cousin shall not renounce his oath, though 'tis noble of you to try to convince him to do so. Still, perhaps my pessimism is unfounded, and your labors shall bear fruit after all."

Mairon's head whipped around, the color leaving his face as he met the dispassionate stare of Finrod Felagund. He shifted, muscles tightening as he tried to decide if he should flee, and if so, whether he should return to his quarters, or to wherever Námo was at the moment.

"It's alright," the former king said quietly, seeing the sudden fear on the Maia's face. "When Beren and Lúthien passed through here the second time, they spoke to me about you." Mairon stilled, willing to hear the Elf out at the mention of his old friends, though he remained poised to flee, just in case.

"I have to admit I was rather shocked, and slightly skeptical about what they told me. But I like to consider myself fair, so I decided to wait until I learned more before I made up my mind about you. Then I heard the Valar had pardoned you." The Elf shrugged. "I suppose I'm more curious than anything."

Mairon relaxed slightly, though he remained wary. Finrod took that as an encouraging sign and came to sit on the other end of the bench. Slowly, he reached out and placed a hand on the Maia's shoulder. Mairon shrank back, but still didn't run. Still moving slowly, Finrod scooted closer and gently cupped Mairon's face in his hands. He pulled the Maia's face up to search Mairon's scared and hesitant eyes. Slowly, his expression grew compassionate.

"They were right," he said quietly. He kissed the Maia's forehead, then leaned his own against it, again searching the Mairon's now stunned gaze. "For what it is worth, I forgive you," Finrod said sincerely.

"How can you?" Mairon whispered in confusion. "I don't understand." Finrod thought for a moment.

"To begin with, my death is not entirely your fault," Finrod said. "If I had followed my Atar and returned to Valinor, I would have never died. For another thing, you weren't exactly free to do as you wished. And finally, what good would being angry with you do? None, so why should I waste energy on it?"

"I never thought of it like that," Mairon said introspectively.

"Not many do," Námo said, emerging out of a side hallway, catching the attention of both Elf and Maia. "And thus they linger here, unable to give up their hatred and anger."

"That is why you said the Noldor would linger long, though others would plead for them," Finrod realized. "For they will not do what is necessary to heal."

"Exactly," Námo replied. "Remember that, when you go."

"Where's Finrod going?" Mairon asked with a yawn. Námo laughed softly, and pulled the young Maia into his arms.

"He's going to be reborn," Námo said.

"I am?" Finrod asked in shock. Námo laughed again.

"Yes," he reassured the Elf. "Your forgiveness of Mairon was the last lesson you needed to learn here. You are ready to return to your kin—and your atar and ammë will be ecstatic over your return." A female Maia appeared, her dark hair pulled back behind her head.

"Hello, Istamírë," Finrod said, smiling. Mairon knew her as well; she served as Námo's chief Maia.

"Hello Finrod, Mairon," she replied, nodding to each in turn. "You called for me, my lord?" she continued, addressing Námo.

"I did," Námo replied. "Finrod is ready to leave us."

"That is wonderful news," Istamírë said warmly. "If you will follow me?" she asked Finrod. The Elf nodded, but turned to Mairon.

"Goodbye, Mairon," he said softly. "And thank you."

"Thank you," the Maia replied sincerely. "Your forgiveness truly does mean a lot to me." Finrod smiled, gently running his fingers through Mairon's dark hair before turning to follow Istamírë.

"Well done today, my little one," Námo told Mairon when the others had left. "Especially with Maedhros."

"But he didn't listen to me," Mairon protested sleepily.

"I doubted he would, at least not on the first try," Námo told him. "But that does not change the fact you did well."

"If you say so," Mairon conceded with another yawn, too tired and too well conditioned to argue.

"I do say so," Námo said with a soft smile. "And I also say you need a nap."

"No argument there," Mairon said indistinctly, curling into Námo's embrace and relaxing. Námo accommodated him easily and watched the little Maia slide into sleep, his own smile never fading.

* * *

**And enter Maedhros! And Finrod! We'll be seeing more of both of them... As always, please review! **


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"I'm sorry, Mairon," Eönwë said awkwardly. The three Maiar were sitting on a low half wall that separated several sections in the gardens of Námo and Vairë's mansion in Valmar.

"It's not your fault," Mairon sighed. With neither Eönwë and Olórin attending their lord at the moment, Námo had sent Mairon off to spend time with them. They had met at Manwë and Varda's mansion first, but Ilmarë had quite obviously objected to Mairon's presence, so they had changed location.

"It's not yours, either," Eönwë retorted.

"Actually, it is," Mairon replied dryly.

"You have been forgiven by the Valar, what more does she want?" Olórin muttered.

"It's not just that, it's Almaren," Mairon explained.

"What about it?" Olórin asked.

"Ilmarë was devastated when Morgoth destroyed the Lamps," Mairon said. "And she hated the one responsible."

"Which was Morgoth," Olórin said bluntly.

"I gave him all the information he needed to do so, however unknowingly," Mairon said softly. Eönwë sighed.

"That makes sense," he said in a low voice. "She has never really healed from that, and the death of the Trees only served to heighten her loss."

"Even I mourned the Trees," Mairon said. "Though for most of us who escaped the Valar after the Battle of the Powers, it was more mourning that we had to deal with Morgoth again. Those Ages he was a prisoner here were almost pleasant."

"Almost?" Olórin asked. Mairon shrugged.

"No one really trusted each other—we couldn't," he explained. "It was lonely. I missed you, and was convinced you all hated me. I tried not to think about it much."

"I never hated you, Mairon," Olórin said softly. "That first instant when I figured out you were in Morgoth's employ, I was furious...but then you were gone. I went through my days with an empty hole where you had been...It finally got so bad I had to spend considerable time with Nienna." Mairon hugged him tightly.

"I'm so sorry," he said, somewhat indistinctly. "I never meant to hurt you like that."

"I know," Olórin said, gently stroking Mairon's hair. "And honestly, as soon as I had you back, none of that mattered, for no matter what you choose, no matter what you have chosen, you are still my little brother."

"I was stunned when I found out," Eönwë said. "I didn't really get angry until the War. And then when I saw you...it all just faded. I wanted you to come back."

"Thank you, both of you," Mairon said sincerely. "I would not be here if it weren't for you. It seems Beren was right." Mairon snorted. "I'm sure wherever he is, he's laughing and saying 'I told you so' right now." Eönwë and Olórin both laughed.

"Do you miss the Secondborn?" Eönwë asked. Mairon nodded.

"It will be nice to be able to work with them again, even if it is only in Mandos," Mairon said. "But there's something more to that question, isn't there?" he asked shrewdly. Eönwë nodded.

"Manwë has asked me to think about working among those who fought in the War, teaching them the skills they will need to create successful lives for themselves."

"You should do it," Mairon said seriously. "They really are fascinating. More so than the Elves, in some ways."

"I just don't want to be gone all the time," Eönwë confessed. "I just got back."

"The mortals like to take days off, you know," Mairon pointed out. "And while I recommend you stay for some of them, so you can see more of their culture, they would completely understand if you came back here at intervals."

"That's a good idea," Eönwë mused. "I think I will do that."

"Should we go speak to Manwë then?" Mairon asked, gracefully rising to his feet before pausing at the other two's panicked looks. "What?" he asked.

"We were...actually supposed to keep you occupied and away from Ilmarin," Eönwë confessed sheepishly.

"Why?" Mairon asked, bewildered. Olórin sighed.

"Ingwë found out about your new status," he said, deliberately staying calm.

"So..." Mairon trailed off.

"So he's at Ilmarin complaining at the moment," Eönwë said. "Not that it will change anything. You are Námo's now, and even Lord Manwë would need his approval to do anything with you." Mairon calmed visibly at Eönwë's words, exhaling explosively.

"Well, that's going to be messy. I wonder how he found—of course, Finrod."

"Finrod?" Olórin asked. Mairon nodded.

"I met him in Mandos," he explained. "He forgave me...and he was released. He must have mentioned me, and it got back to Ingwë."

"Are you upset?" Eönwë asked. Mairon shrugged.

"No, not really. It doesn't really change anything for me. I already couldn't go among the Eldar. I highly doubt Ingwë would act like Fëanor did with the whole rebellion thing, so all his complaint will end up as are some headaches for Lord Manwë."

"Very true," Olórin said. "So we'll just wait for it to blow over." He deftly changed the subject. "What do you know about the Secondborn?" Mairon brightened slightly and began to talk, leaving all thoughts of Ingwë behind.

* * *

Manwë sighed internally and wondered, not for the first time, why all of Ilúvatar's creations were so stubborn. He fully realized that he and the other Valar fell into that category, but staring into the mulish face of the High King of the Elves, he found himself thinking it would have been easier for all involved if Ilúvatar had made His children a bit less obstinate.

"Ingwë, I truly understand your concerns," he said calmly. "But even if he wished to, Mairon could not cause the damage Melkor did."

"I fail to see why not," Ingwë replied. "Also, though I do not wish to question your judgement, I fail to see why you are bothering with him. You could have thrown him to the Void, or if you found that too harsh, you could have locked him in Mandos indefinitely." Manwë sighed mentally, turning to the only other Elf in the room, who looked faintly uncomfortable.

"What do you think, Arafinwë?" Manwë asked.

"If you had asked me not long ago, I would have agreed with my uncle," he said. "But Finrod...Finrod has forgiven him. I feel like I can do no less. But I am King of the Noldor, and I do wish to make certain nothing like the Darkening will ever happen again."

"I do not wish to see something like the Darkening ever occur again either," Manwë agreed. "And my decision about Mairon will not cause it to."

"You will have to pardon me, my lord, but I do not see why you believe that," Ingwë said.

"Because he is scarcely more than a child, and his service to Melkor was not entirely voluntary," Manwë replied. "You have met Vána's twins. He is scarcely older. He was a child when Melkor first began to attempt to acquire him. Threats against those he loved kept him silent, and alone, no Maia, no matter how loyal or powerful, could hold up forever."

"So how do we know he will not continue on that path now?" Ingwë asked.

"Because he wants the second chance he has been given," Manwë said.

"How do we know that he isn't lying like Melkor was?" Ingwë further demanded. Manwë sighed.

"Because we examined his memories, and nearly destroyed him in the process," he answered quietly. "Melkor brutally mistreated him; and he was forced to relive it all at our hands. It very nearly drove him insane. But it did verify one thing for us: that his motives are sincere. He wants a second chance, and truthfully, after what he has gone through, he deserves it. Furthermore, he has done less worthy of condemnation than did Melkor. We could not punish him more strictly and call ourselves just."

"That is enough for me," Arafinwë said simply. "Will you pass my son's greetings on to Mairon?"

"I will," Manwë said with a nod.

"Then with your permission I will return to the city," Arafinwë said, "as my son's return is still new enough to bring Eärwen and me wonder and delight. If I am not further needed here, I will return to them."

"Go gladly, and relay to them our greetings and congratulations," Manwë replied.

"Thank you, my lord, and I shall," Arafinwë replied, and withdrew. Ingwë watched him go with a troubled expression.

"You know you may speak whatever is on your mind, Ingwë," Manwë said gently. Ingwë sighed.

"When the War ended, all I wanted was peace for my people," Ingwë said. "Despite what you have said, all I can see in Mairon is a very large risk of loosing all we have so painfully gained."

"But as for the Ainur, we see it as a chance to regain what we had painfully lost so long ago," Manwë replied. "Perhaps when he is stronger, you will be able to meet him, and then you will understand."

"I do trust you, my lord," Ingwë said.

"I know, and I thank you for it," Manwë replied. "Go now, and reacquaint yourself with those who are beginning to be returned to you." Ingwë bowed, and withdrew. Manwë stared out a window for a time, lost in thought, before reaching out and touching the thoughts of a Maia. Moments later, Eönwë, Olórin, and Mairon stood before him.

"Is Ingwë gone?" Mairon asked, surprising Manwë, who looked at Eönwë and Olórin and received rather sheepish looks in return.

"How did you learn about that?" Manwë asked. Mairon shrugged.

"We were talking about Eönwë teaching the Secondborn, and when I mentioned coming to talk to you, they panicked. It was rather amusing, actually. Of course, they then had to tell me why we couldn't return to Ilmarin."

"I see," Manwë said. "Yes, Ingwë is gone, as is Arafinwë. Finrod sends his greetings." Mairon brightened.

"Oh, that was kind of him. I'd return them, but I have no idea how."

"You could just go visit him," Eönwë suggested. Mairon gave him a sardonic look.

"Oh yes, that's a great idea," he said sarcastically. "I can see it now: mass panic. Lovely."

"I didn't mean in front of everyone," Eönwë protested.

"I'll just write him a note," Mairon said. "You can take it to him and speak with him about the Secondborn. He knows more about them than I do."

"So have you decided about teaching the Edain?" Manwë asked his herald. Eönwë nodded.

"I will do so, though I would like some time in which I can come back occasionally," he explained.

"That will be perfectly acceptable," Manwë replied. "And you may have the rest of the time before you leave for your leisure."

"Which he'll use to babysit me, I'm sure," Mairon laughed. Eönwë pounced on him.

"Ow! Eönwë! Get off!" Mairon protested. Eönwë did so, but only after thoroughly messing up the younger Maia's hair. Darkly glaring at him, Mairon began to place it back in order.

"And I won't spend all of it with you," Eönwë objected. "Part of it I'll spend with Ilmarë."

Eönwë looked guilty as soon as he said that, and Mairon almost winced, as that sentence brought up the unspoken fact that at one point, Ilmarë would have been inseparable from the other three. Now her lingering anger at Mairon left her brother dividing his time.

"Well, I suggest you go do something fun at any rate. Off with you now," Manwë said to lighten the tension. It worked, and the three began to make plans for their increased combined time, casually exiting Ilmarin as they did so. Manwë watched them go, smiling to see their heads, golden, blond, and black all together again. Only Ilmarë's deep silver was missing, he thought. Still, healing had begun. All that was needed now was time. And of that, they had plenty.

* * *

"It won't work. Not with Eönwë always there," a Maia protested.

"Eönwë is leaving," another spoke up knowledgeably. "Manwë has asked him to teach the Edain."

"So there's one obstacle out of our way," still another Maia said.

"I'm still not sure I see the point in all this," the first Maia replied. "Yes, I'm as unhappy as all of you that he's back. But what good will harassing him do?"

"Provoke him to retaliation," answered the third Maia, who seemed to be in charge. "When he does so, the Valar will not be able to ignore it, or trust him further. We can get him banished or worse, and we won't have to deal with him further."

Murmurs of agreement met that statement, as further plans were laid—plans that would not be brought to the knowledge of the Valar.

* * *

**And things are starting to move...please review! **


	5. Chapter 5

**It's a good thing this chapter was already done, because this week was *crazy...* **

* * *

Chapter Five

"Olórin, she's not going to want to speak with me," Mairon retorted.

"Mairon, she's still heartbroken and lonely. You are the only other one of us who truly knows what the Hither Lands are like," Olórin replied.

"From the wrong side of the War," Mairon shot back.

"You met Lúthien—"

"After she had died once, and was already lost to her people," Mairon snapped. "Or do you mean before that, when I tried to hand her over to Morgoth? Both great memories, to be sure."

"Mairon," Olórin sighed.

"I'm sorry, Olórin," Mairon said. "But I really don't see how any good could come from meeting with her, unless the idea is to have her yell at me."

"No, Mairon, the idea is not to have her yell at you." Olórin restrained another sigh. "But I think you owe it to her to at least talk to her." Mairon crossed his arms and looked away.

"I don't even know where to start," he said quietly. Olórin rested a hand on his shoulder.

"Try at the beginning," he advised, and before Mairon had time to react, he thought them both to Lórien, and left.

Mairon growled softly in the back of his throat. He hated this, but he knew Olórin wasn't going to give this idea up. He took a few steps towards the stream he could hear, then paused uncertainly. Melyanna was sitting on the bank, looking hopeless and sad, staring with blank eyes at the water. She had lost so much, and Mairon truly doubted she could forgive him, much less want him around. If he were honest, though, he hoped she would, for he missed her friendship. He smiled slightly as he remembered their first meeting…

_Mairon wasn__'__t truly watching the other Maiar. He was simply counting on their presence to insure that Melkor didn__'__t show up again. He did feel slightly out of place on a planet that was heavily used by V__á__na__'__s people, but if questioned, he would just say the flowers gave him inspiration. Right, they were certainly going to be believe _that_ one__…_

"_Are you alright?__" __A feminine voice broke into his musings. Mairon glanced up, startled, to meet the grey eyes of a female Maia he only knew from sight__—__and sound. She was the one that sang all the time, wasn__'__t she? _

"_I__'__m fine,__" __Mairon replied to her question. _

"_You look sad,__" __Melyanna (Mairon tried to remember if her name actually _was_ Melyanna) said. __"__Here.__"_

_She handed him the flower she held, a beautiful thing with many petals that Mairon had no name for. _

"_Thank you?__" __Mairon responded. Melyanna smiled._

"_Flowers have the power to make people feel better,__" __she informed him. __"__So there you go! Now you don__'__t have to look so sad.__" __And with that, she continued on to whatever she had been doing before._

_Stunned, Mairon looked down again at the flower he now held. A small smile began to tug at the corners of his lips. He did feel better now__…__though he would sooner attribute that to Melyanna than the flower. _

That was it! Mairon focused, intent on recreating that flower. He doubted he could make any other, but he had studied Melyanna's gift enough that he should be able to do this...

Melian didn't look up as footsteps approached her. Only when a flower entered her line of sight, its roots encased in a ball of dirt held by two slender hands, did she look up to meet a sheepish pair of golden eyes that nonetheless held surprising sincerity.

"Someone very wise once told me that flowers have the power to make people feel better," Mairon said softly. Melian could not help but smile as she recognized the flower as identical to the one she had given him with those exact words.

"They do," she said, reaching out to take the bloom. "But old friends have even more of that power." The smile Mairon gave her at that was absolutely stunning, making Melian glad she had accepted his overture.

"Come on," she told him. "I know just where to plant this." She led him to her section of the gardens, where she planted the flower next to a small fountain.

"There," she said. "Now I'll be able to see it every day." Mairon smiled again, and Melian studied him out of the corner of her eye. He seemed fragile, the healer in her noted with concern. But his eyes were clear, and his smile true.

"How are you, really?" Melian asked softly.

"Honestly, I don't think I should be sane at the moment, but I am, and I think I'll stay that way," Mairon replied. Melian gave him a concerned look, which he returned.

"How are you?" he countered seriously. Melian looked away.

"I will see my husband again," she said bravely. "And my daughter... she followed her heart, and was happy." She paused, torn.

"I just wish people would mention her," she burst out. "All anyone does is look at me sadly, and assure me I will see Elwë again. It is as if Lúthien never existed."

"She is well remembered, never fear," Mairon said. "Istamírë still speaks of her in slightly awed tones. Apparently, she was rather unhappy when she showed up in Mandos."

"I do not doubt it," Melian replied. "After all she had survived by that point—" She broke off at Mairon's slight wince, and sighed.

"Mairon, I know you, and I know you have a reason for everything you do, even if it is just, 'It sounded fun'. Why were you going to hand Lúthien over to Morgoth?" Mairon winced again.

"I had just lost Finrod," he said softly. "I thought if I could capture her, Morgoth's pleasure over that would outweigh his displeasure over the fact that the King of Nargothrond had died on my watch. If I had known what was going to happen after all that, I would have started running, and never stopped."

"Would that have worked?" Melian asked bluntly. Mairon winced again.

"No," he admitted. "Once those events had been set in motion, there was no way I could win."

"You have won," Melian pointed out. "Morgoth is gone until the end of time, and you are free."

"I am," Mairon said with a brilliant smile.

"And you are happy, I hope," Melian continued. Mairon laughed.

"I seem to keep having this conversation," he commented. "Yes, I am happy serving in Mandos. And I've actually be able to start to working."

"Oh really?" Melian asked. Mairon nodded.

"Just with Maedhros, right now," he said. "But you know...I do see quite a few people there. Should one of them simply happen to be a silver-haired Elf, would you happen to have a message for him?" Melian stared at him in shock, her mouth falling open.

"Mairon!" she exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "But, I thought—that's not allowed, is it?"

"I have no idea what you are talking about," Mairon said, his innocent voice somewhat marred by Melian's tight embrace. Melian laughed and let him go.

"Well then, if you should just happen to see Elwë, tell him that I love him."

"Oh, he knows that," Mairon said. "But if you want to be boring..." He broke off laughing at Melian's glare.

"No, he really needs to know," Melian said softly. "I'm scared he thinks I blame him for a lot of things I asked him not to do that he did anyway, that didn't end well. He needs to know I don't hate him."

"Perhaps fate would have been different had Thingol made different choices," Mairon said pensively. "But I cannot see that it would have necessarily been for the better."

"Neither can I," Melian admitted. "Perhaps so, but perhaps if we had remained safe for longer, it would have accomplished nothing but to bring Morgoth himself out against us. And then things would have been far worse. All I know is that events have worked together to see Morgoth overthrown, so I will regret none of them." Melian paused. "Except, perhaps, the loss of my daughter," she added in a low voice. Mairon hugged her.

"You will see her again," he said, quiet but sure. "If grace was granted to me that I might find my way home again, then you will not be separated from your daughter forever."

"Thank you, Mairon," Melian whispered. Her smile was true, if a bit shaky. "I just hope I can convince my great-granddaughter of the same."

"That's right—one of Elwing's sons chose mortality," Mairon said. Melian nodded.

"And she is not handling it exceptionally well," she said. "They were both quite young when she left, and now she feels she will never have the chance to know him."

"That would be hard," Mairon said softly.

"At least I have many years of memories," Melian said, "memories that I will be able to look back on with joy, when the grief is not so sharp. Elwing does not, and now, she never will. She chose as she did so that she would not have to lose more of her family, yet now she has lost her son until the end of Arda. She made the right choice, but I cannot help feeling she second guesses it at times."

"Second guessing ourselves is not something even the Valar escape," Mairon said softly.

"Very true," Melian said. "But she must learn to live again. I suppose that's something I need to learn as well," she added fairly. Mairon shrugged.

"I need to do the same," he admitted.

"Then we shall all do so together," Melian said with a smile.

"Not physically, I hope," Mairon said wryly. " I don't think Elwing—or anyone else—would take that very well."

"Perhaps not yet," Melian said mischievously. "But sometime."

"Melyanna," Mairon groaned. Melian laughed.

"You are welcome to come to lunch with us if you would like," she grinned.

"No, thank you, I can just see it now," Mairon said dryly. "I'm supposed to meet Eönwë—and Olórin, I suppose—anyway."

"Alright," Melian said, relenting. "But you will have to come and visit me again."

"Of course I will," Mairon said with a brilliant smile.

"Good," Melian said, matching his grin. They embraced in farewell, then Mairon drew back and put his hands on her shoulders.

"Do you want to know how to help Elwing?" he asked sincerely.

"Of course," Melian responded, confused. Mairon gave her a wistful smile.

"Sing again," he said simply, then released her and turned to walk away, before thinking himself to where Eönwë and Olórin were waiting. Melian stood for a moment, frozen, before raising a hand to her throat, a thoughtful look on her face. Finally she sighed and dropped her hand before turning and leaving herself.

"I wish she would sing again myself," Irmo commented to Estë from where they had been watching at Námo's request, unnoticed by the two Maiar.

"She will, when she's ready," Estë said calmly. "Mairon will be good for her. I was skeptical at first, but he has accepted what he has lost, and is making the most of what he has left."

"For now," Irmo replied. "Námo is worried about what will happen the first time someone attacks him, even if it is only verbal."

"It is a valid concern," Estë allowed. "But he grows stronger each day. Attacks will come, but he will have enough support to make it through."

"If he will let others help him," Irmo countered.

"Do you think your brother is going to give him a choice in the matter?" Estë replied. Irmo laughed.

"You have a good point there," he said. "I just worry what this will bring out among the Maiar."

"I know," Estë sighed. "Many are still badly wounded, and some may be highly resentful."

"We'll meet it as we always do, my love," Irmo said, putting an arm around her.

"I know," Estë responded, leaning into him. "I know."

* * *

**I just want to say a big thank you to my anonymous reviewer 'Guest'. Thank you for all your lovely reviews! **


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

The small, dark-haired Maia clenched his fingers together in a vain attempt to keep them from shaking. Mairon looked up as Námo entered the small clearing he was in. The Maia couldn't help but shiver as Námo knelt behind him, gently wrapping his left arm around him.

"Shh, child," Námo whispered, but gave no reassurance, reassurance Mairon knew he couldn't give. Still with utmost gentleness, Námo tilted Mairon's head back, rubbing his jaw in response to the Maia's whimper.

Mairon closed his eyes, fighting to ignore what was happening, fighting to believe that it was something else entirely—

Eyes flew open and lips parted as pain seared across Mairon's neck. His turned golden eyes met Námo's stern but regretful gaze, as the Vala slowly lowered the knife, watching as the golden light before him flickered and died.

Mairon was unaware that he had sat up screaming until arms wrapped around him from behind. Too close to what he had just experienced, he cried out again.

"Mairon! It was a dream. You are safe." With a shuddering sob, Mairon collapsed back into Námo's arms, feeling the Vala gently shift him into a more comfortable position, and Vairë's gentle fingers begin to comb through his hair. He had been sleeping tucked between the two Valar, something that had become routine for the three, even when the Valar did not sleep themselves.

"Shh, Mairon," Námo said gently. "It's alright." He gently tilted the Maia's face up to meet his eyes. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"I was sentenced to the Void," Mairon whispered hollowly. Námo's gaze grew compassionate.

"And I was the one who carried out that sentence?" Námo asked, somewhat rhetorically. Mairon nodded anyway.

"It didn't happen, Mairon," Námo said gently, but leaving no room for argument. "And it's not going to."

"Not even if I go bad again?" Mairon asked hesitantly.

"Is that something you are worried about, my little one?" Námo asked quietly.

"I thought I wasn't anymore," Mairon said miserably. Námo sighed.

"You're not going to 'go bad' as you put it," he said. "But even if you did, you would not be thrown into the Void. You would probably need to be locked up for the safety of others, but you will never have to be Melkor's slave again, my little one."

"But wouldn't I deserve it?" Mairon whispered, closing his eyes.

"No," Námo said firmly, power and finality radiating from that single word. "No, child, no one deserves to endure what you did." Mairon was silent for a time.

"Are my memories completely gone?" he asked, somewhat randomly. "The ones Morgoth took?"

"Not as far as I could tell, at least not all of them," Námo replied. "But I have not taken a very good look at the bindings on your mind. Both of the times I have touched your mind I have had other concerns, and you were too fragile for me to do anything about them."

"Oh," Mairon said. "Am I still too fragile?"

"Yes," Námo said.

"But I'll be able to get those memories back some day?" Mairon asked further.

"Most likely," Námo assured him.

"Good," Mairon said. "I miss them." He was silent again for a long time, before looking up at Námo and opening his mouth, only to shut it again and look down, biting his lip.

"What is it, Mairon?" Námo asked.

"Are you…are you going to get tired of me?" Mairon asked with extreme hesitation.

"What makes you think that, little one?" Námo replied.

"I'm just a broken wreck," Mairon said miserably. "I'm only a burden, I need almost constant care…and I'm not really worth much of anything," he finished in a whisper.

"That is not true, Mairon," Vairë said firmly.

"My lovely wife is quite right, Mairon," Námo said. "You are worth a great deal."

"I don't see how," Mairon whispered. "Right now, I can't really do anything."

"You don't have to, my little one," Námo said gently. He pulled the small Maia closer. "Mairon, your value is intrinsic. It is not based on what you can or cannot do. You have value simply because you are." He tilted Mairon's face up.

"And no, I'm not going to 'get tired of you'," he said. "You are mine, unless you decide you no longer want to be. Nothing will change that." Mairon gave a shuddering sigh and wrapped his arms around the Vala, burying his face in Námo's chest and closing his eyes.

"I love you, Mairon," Námo whispered gently.

"I love you too," Mairon replied. "'Msorry I'm scared all the time."

"It's alright," Námo said. "All I ask is that you'll let me begin to strip some of those fears away." Mairon nodded.

"And you'll love me?" Mairon asked.

"Do you believe that your brother loves you, no matter what?" Námo replied.

"Yes," Marion answered, confused.

"Mairon, you are now my child, and my love for you is as abiding as the rest of your family's." Mairon looked up and met Námo's eyes, a brilliant smile breaking across his face, erasing the last lingering shadows of the nightmare. Námo's own smile was gentle as he stroked a finger down Mairon's face.

"Sleep, child," he said. "Morning will come soon enough for all of us." Mairon nodded, and lay his head back down on Námo's chest, letting his eyes slide shut, the soft breathing of two Valar he knew cared for him lulling him to sleep.

* * *

The next morning found Námo, Vairë, and Mairon curled in various chairs in a comfortable sitting room. Outsiders might view Mandos as cold and gloomy, but Námo and Vairë's personal quarters, as well as those of the Maiar who served them, were anything but, filled with thick rugs, warm blankets, and rich tapestries. Námo and Vairë were talking softly, and Mairon was staring at the fire, letting his thoughts drift where they would. A knock sounded at the door, and Istamírë entered, looking like she was carefully controlling irritation.

"My lord, my apologies, but Fëanor is demanding to see you." The unspoken 'again' was highly evident. Námo raised an eyebrow.

"Does he have anything new to say?" he asked dryly.

"I highly doubt it, but I couldn't say," Istamírë said, matching her lord's tone. "It is Fëanor we are talking about. For all I know, he is bored, and wants to resume learning Valarin."

"I suppose I should go see what he wants now," Námo said, rising gracefully. He looked at Mairon and paused, not wanting the Maia to be left alone.

"Why doesn't Mairon come with me?" Vairë suggested. "I have been wanting to get to know him better, anyway. What do you say, Mairon? Would you like to spend the day with me?" Mairon looked up and smiled, nodding. He stood and walked over to the Valië, who took his hand.

"Then that sounds like a perfect solution," Námo said, smiling at the sight of his wife and the newest of his Maiar. He left, Istamírë following, and Vairë and Mairon departed for the Valië's workshop, a part of the Halls of Mandos Mairon had never been.

Mairon's first impression was of light. Large skylights let in an impressive amount of light, and were angled, Mairon noted, to have utilized the light from the Trees in the fullest. The first room seemed to be a workshop. Various looms and other things Mairon had no name for were being repaired, designed, and tested. Some of the Maiar working there served Yavanna.

Vairë continued down a hallway, and Mairon followed. A cross hall seemed to lead to a library, as Mairon caught a glimpse of rows upon rows of books as he walked past. Finally, they came to a large, circular room, with alcoves large and small scattered off it that seemed to be smaller workrooms, with plenty of cushions, and various equipment for fabric crafts. The ceiling of the main room was a transparent dome, providing a magnificent view of the sky. Most of Vairë's Maiar could be found here: some in groups chatting together in the alcoves, with others working the large looms where the tapestries depicting the history of Arda were created.

Mairon was confused. The large frames were arraignment in a circle around the main floor, which was not the most economical use of the space, but something seemed different about this room… Vairë smiled knowingly at him.

"Walk out between the looms, and you will understand," she advised. Mairon did as directed, and as he passed between two of the looms, he stopped, his mouth falling open. The Song that had created and sustained Arda could clearly be heard here. He could see what was occurring in Valinor, Middle-earth, and beyond. The more deeply the event affected the Song, the harder it was to ignore. Mairon could also still see past events that had changed the flow of the Song.

"So this is how you do it," Mairon commented to Vairë, who walked up beside him.

"Yes, this is how," Vairë said. "If you listen closely, you can even hear echoes of the Song that created Eä here. It is why Mandos is built where it is." Mairon nodded, eyes wide.

"It truly is remarkable," the Maia to their left commented, leaving off her work. "Before we found this place, the Song was far less well recorded."

"That is true, Nyárë," Vairë responded, smiling at her chief Maia. "Still, we did an excellent job with the resources we had."

"We did indeed, my lady," Nyárë replied. She turned her attention to Mairon, who was now a few steps away, looking around at all the different looms.

"Is Mairon joining us today?" she asked calmly. Vairë nodded.

"My husband has to deal with yet another complaint of Fëanor's," Vairë said dryly.

"So my sister will probably be here later, frustrated and wanting to vent?" Nyárë asked rhetorically, raising an eyebrow. Vairë laughed.

"Probably," she said. "Istamírë was already rather irritated when I saw her last." Nyárë nodded.

"Would you like me to take Mairon so you may work?" she asked, changing the subject. "I would be happy to teach him whatever strikes his interest."

"Thank you, Nyárë," Vairë said, "I would greatly appreciate it. Mairon!" she called the younger Maia back over. Mairon responded with alacrity.

"Mairon, why don't you go with Nyárë? She can teach you a little bit more about what those who serve me do," Vairë suggested.

"Alright," Mairon said, glancing somewhat shyly at Nyárë, who smiled at him.

"All the alcoves are equipped for various fabric crafts," Nyárë explained, leading Mairon over to a medium-sized one already occupied by a few Maiar, as Vairë took over the large tapestry Nyárë had been working on. "Have you ever been interested by any of them?"

"To tell you the truth, I've never really thought about it," Mairon confessed sheepishly. "Not other than wanting things to look nice." Nyárë laughed.

"Well, what we do is why things look nice," she said as they reached the alcove. A Maia with bright brown eyes looked up as they entered. Mairon stared with fascination at the embroidery she held in her hands.

"Do you mind if I watch?" he asked her shyly.

"Not at all!" the Maia replied cheerfully. "Pull up a cushion."

"Qunetalë is one of of our best embroiderers," Nyárë commented, taking a seat herself and pulling out a small hand loom. Qunetalë blushed.

"I simply enjoy it, so I spend a lot of time doing it," she explained. "Here, do you want to try?" She quickly set Mairon up with the necessary supplies and demonstrated a few basic stitches, which Mairon attempted to duplicate.

"That was good," Qunetalë said. "Just try to make them smaller."

"Oh," Mairon said, starting to remove them.

"No, don't pull them out!" Qunetalë said. "Just keep going."

"But they're not right," Mairon protested.

"That's alright, you're just learning," Qunetalë encouraged. Mairon continued to practice under Qunetalë's patient guidance until Istamírë came in and flopped down next to her younger sister. At that he broke off, startled.

"Why does Fëanor have to be so difficult?" Istamírë demanded, somewhat rhetorically.

"You shouldn't let him get to you, sister," Nyárë said calmly, setting her loom to the side.

"Almaron says the same thing," Istamírë grumbled.

"Your husband is right, as am I," Nyárë said. "When you become exasperated, you are letting Fëanor win."

"I know, I know," Istamírë sighed. "Not that you ever get upset about anything." Nyárë shrugged.

"The Song shall flow according to Atar's will, and I shall record it as it does, for thus was I created," she replied.

"You have never wanted to shape the Song?" Mairon asked despite himself. Nyárë shrugged.

"No," she replied simply. Mairon looked down at his hands, not truly seeing them, as he tried to fathom her attitude. He still hadn't managed it when Námo entered, and he focused his attention on his lord.

"Learning to embroider, my little one?" Námo asked, coming to sit beside Mairon.

"Sort of," Mairon replied doubtfully, looking at the sampler he held. Qunetalë laughed.

"You have to be patient, Mairon," she said. "If you practiced, you could become proficient."

"I think I will leave that to you, and simply have a greater appreciation of how much work goes into my clothes," Mairon said, carefully laying the sampler aside. He leaned into Námo, who wrapped an arm around him, and yawned. Qunetalë, seeing that, began to hum softly. The other Maiar joined in, and quickly Mairon was asleep.

"You look very content," Vairë said to Námo as she walked in. Námo smiled.

"I have two of my children with me, and three of yours. And now, you have joined us as well. What is there not to be content with?" he replied. Vairë laughed softly, as not to wake Mairon, and settled into Námo's free side.

"My lord, forgive me...but is Mairon alright?" Qunetalë asked hesitantly. Námo looked down at the sleeping Maia and smoothed a hand over his dark hair.

"He is better than he was, but no, he is not healed yet," Námo said quietly. "And there are some who would see him further hurt."

"What do you mean?" Qunetalë asked with a frown.

"We hear rumors," Námo answered. "There are those among the Maiar who are not pleased by Mairon's return to Valinor. They will try to hurt him, that much I know, but I cannot see who they are, for that lies in their free will."

"What can we do?" Qunetalë asked with a frown. Námo smiled gently at her.

"He will need friends who will stand by him and remind him that there are many who yet care for him. He will need friendship to face the challenges that will come his way."

"He has mine," Qunetalë said fiercely.

"And mine," Nyárë said calmly. "He is an endearing child."

"And I've already said, whoever messes with him—I don't care who it is—is going to wish they had never even thought of it if I get hold of them," Istamírë muttered from where she lay. Námo smiled at them.

"With the friends he has, both new and old, I do not think he will be lacking in aid for the challenges that lie ahead," said the Vala. "Not in the least."

* * *

**I'm probably not going to be able to reply to reviews quickly because I'm on vacation, but still please review! **


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Mairon awoke and stretched. Odd, he didn't remember having gone to sleep in a bed...

"Good morning," Námo said from the chair where he was sitting.

"Is it morning?" Mairon asked, confused. Námo laughed softly.

"It is early," he said. "The Elves would still call it night."

"Alright then," Mairon said, relaxing again as where he was and what was going on made sense. "So what would you like me to do today?"

"I'd like you to visit Maedhros again," Námo said. "After that...I'm not entirely certain yet. I will let you know."

"Alright," Mairon said easily. He climbed out of bed, and padded over to Námo, where he climbed into the Vala's lap and curled up, closing his eyes.

"You said it was still night," Mairon said smugly, feeling the Vala laugh as he let himself drift onto the Path of Dreams again.

Hours later, Mairon was still in the good mood his morning had put him in. Wandering down the hallways, headed for where Maedhros' cell was, he was bolder than he had been in the past, not pausing every so often to see if anyone was around. For one, few Elves would come this way. Two, Mairon had realized that there were few even among the Elves who would be able to tell who he was from a distance. He reached Maedhros' cell and placed his hand flat against the door. It clicked open for him, and he pulled it slightly ajar, knocking and poking his head in.

"May I come in?" he asked Maedhros, who had looked up at the Maia's entrance.

"Mairon!" Maedhros exclaimed in surprise. "Yes, come in." He stood to give the Maia a hug, which Mairon returned warmly.

"It's good to see you," Maedhros said. "If Námo is incessant on sending Maiar to speak with me, I'd rather it be you."

"I'm flattered," Mairon said dryly. Maedhros had the grace to look embarrassed.

"I do like you, Mairon," he said. "I am just tired of all the Maiar who come, who do not understand." Mairon raised an eyebrow.

"What don't they understand?" he asked.

"What it was like," Maedhros said mulishly. "You, at least, were there."

"I was there," Mairon said quietly. "And so I can tell you that you're being unfair. The war you fought was not a new one, Maedhros. It has been raging since the beginning of Eä. Almost any Maia could tell you of what they have lost because of it. Some lost siblings; others, friends. Some merely lost innocence—but you understand how hard even that can be." Maedhros looked down.

"Then why did they not aid us?" he asked in a low voice.

"They did, in the end," Mairon pointed out. "At the time you left...well, I was not here, so I cannot say for certain. But they were not idle—the creation of Isil and Anar attest to that."

"I simply do not see why we had to endure what we did, with no aid from the Valar," Maedhros said.

"Because you chose to," Mairon replied. Maedhros looked down again.

"Do not get angry!" Mairon continued. "I did not say it was a bad choice. Indeed it was that choice that led to the final end of this war—something your valor helped bring to pass."

"But it was not enough," Maedhros sighed.

"No, it was not," Marion agreed. "But neither was the might of the Valar, in the long uncounted Ages this war has been fought. Indeed, it was Morgoth himself that finally ensured his defeat." Mairon grinned. "And isn't that satisfying?"

"I suppose it is," Maedhros admitted with a half smile.

"You see, the world is not nearly so gloomy as you wish to make it out to be," Mairon said, folding his legs. "Morgoth is defeated. This is a time for rejoicing and healing, not mourning."

"Do the dead rejoice?" Maedhros asked sardonically.

"Some do," Mairon said. "All heal—those that are not too stubborn to do so, that is," he added pointedly.

"I am stubborn," Maedhros said.

"I know it," Mairon retorted. "But what is that stubbornness going to gain you now?" Maedhros didn't answer, so Mairon sighed and stood.

"There is no shame in admitting you were wrong, and seeking healing, Maedhros," he said as he left. "None at all."

Mairon sighed to himself as he walked down the hallway. Maedhros was stubborn, yes. That wasn't a bad thing, but part of wisdom was realizing when to let go of the past. He smiled briefly when he thought of the friends who had taught him that. Unconsciously, his feet took him to where their story was displayed on Vairë's tapestries.

It wasn't the smartest thing to do, Mairon admitted to himself as he went. The unembodied Elves could often be found there. But Mairon went anyway. The worst that could happen would be for him to be recognized, then think himself back to his quarters, and calling Istamírë to take care of the problem. He smirked to himself as he imagined what Istamírë would do in that situation.

He rounded the last corner and paused in surprise. Elu Thingol was staring at a tapestry like he wished he could melt into it. That was understandable, as it depicted Lúthien—and Beren. He didn't look up as the small, dark-haired Maia walked up and took a seat on a small stone plinth, crossing his legs, and looking at the tapestry as well.

"They still sing of the strength of her love," Mairon commented conversationally. Thingol glanced at him briefly, then turned his attention back to the tapestry.

"It must run in the family," Mairon continued, undaunted. "Because they still sing of your wife's, as well. I knew Melyanna fairly well, you know. She's very wise."

"And foolish is he that disregards wisdom's voice," Thingol muttered bitterly.

"That's the thing about Melyanna," Mairon said. "She is wise enough to know that even the very wisest do not see all ends. Morgoth is overthrown, and the War that has been waged since Eä's dawn has been won. All choices, those deemed good and ill, have led to that outcome. Who can say whether choices changed may have led to a better outcome? We may speculate, but we will never know."

Thingol looked at him, and Mairon met his gaze squarely.

"She loves you, Elwë," he said sincerely. "She still loves you, and waits for you in Lórien." He stood and walked away.

"You don't want to keep her waiting too long, do you?" he asked as he left. Mairon rounded a corner and almost ran into Istamírë. He froze, taking in her unreadable face.

"Am I in trouble?" he asked hesitantly. She raised an eyebrow,

"What do you think?" she countered. Mairon hung his head.

"I know I wasn't supposed to do that," he said.

"No, you weren't," Istamírë agreed. "However...It might actually get him to stop moping, and do what he needs to do to heal." She smiled suddenly. "So I won't tell if you won't." Mairon stared at her in shock, before grinning himself.

"I won't," he promised. She gave him a look.

"And don't do it again," she said with mock sternness.

"I won't!" Mairon said cheerfully, going his way. Istamírë chuckled, and continued on herself. Mairon traveled halfway down the corridor and froze again, as Námo stood in his path. The Vala raised an eyebrow at the little Maia's expression, but didn't comment on it.

"I have a somewhat unusual assignment for you, Mairon," Námo said.

"Alright," Mairon replied. He took Námo's hand as the Vala led him to his office, where Námo settled in a chair and looked at him seriously.

"Aulë would like to meet with you, Mairon," Námo said. "I told him I would speak to you about it." Mairon looked down, a thousand different emotions racing through him at that.

"Is he mad at me?" Mairon asked.

"No, I do not believe so," Námo replied. "I believe he wishes to clear up the remaining misunderstandings between the two of you."

"Do you think I am strong enough?" Marion asked quietly. Námo drew him close.

"Yes, little one, I do," Námo assured him.

"I don't know what to say to him," Mairon said. "I've never known what to say to him." Námo looked at him closely.

"I think you will find that the words will come when you begin to speak, Mairon," the Vala told him. "Do you wish to speak with him?"

"Do you want me to?" Mairon asked quietly.

"I think it would help you a good deal," Námo said. "But the choice is yours, my little one." Mairon sighed.

"I will do it," he said. Námo smiled.

"I'm very proud of you, Mairon. Come along, then."

"Now?" Mairon asked, panicked. Námo raised an eyebrow.

"Is there any point in waiting?" he asked.

"I suppose not," Mairon grumbled. "I just hope you're right about the words."

"Haven't you figured out by now that I'm always right?" Námo asked, warm amusement coloring his tone.

"Haha," Mairon said sarcastically, taking the hand of the Vala, who thought them both to Ilmarin.

Mairon swallowed heavily, panic setting back in at the thought of seeing Aulë. Other than briefly at his trial, he had not seen the Vala since fleeing Valinor after Olórin discovered his betrayal.

"Mairon," Námo said gently, causing the small Maia to focus on his lord.

"Mairon, you will be fine. And if you need me, I am only a call away," Námo told him. Mairon nodded, and Námo embraced him, kissing his forehead. Then he released him and turned him around, giving him a light push towards the room Aulë was waiting in.

Mairon obediently moved forward, and walked through the door that separated him from Aulë before he let himself think. The Vala was sitting on the far side of the room, staring out the windows. Mairon walked over to him quietly, instinctively stopping just within reach. He meticulously studied his shoes, even though he could feel Aulë's eyes on his face.

"Have you always been scared of me, or were you just shy?" Aulë asked abruptly, causing Mairon to glance up briefly before looking down again.

"When I served you, I did not know how you wanted me to act, so I was shy," Mairon answered. "Now...now I am scared," he admitted in an incredibly soft voice. Aulë sighed softly, and Mairon couldn't help but shiver as fingers were placed under his jaw, raising his face up, holding him as if he were the most delicate piece of porcelain or glass.

"I do not want you to be scared of me, child," Aulë said quietly. "Have I ever done anything to make you afraid?"

"No, but I have," Mairon whispered, closing his eyes. "I betrayed you."

The fingers holding his jaw released him, and Mairon let his head fall forward, his dark hair obscuring his face. He didn't open his eyes when Aulë grasped the bottom hem of his shirt and removed it, nor when the Vala closed large hands around his ribcage to lift him into his arms. He lay limp against Aulë's chest, feeling the Vala's fingers run up and down his spine. But unlike almost anyone else who had touched him, Aulë traced not the scars he carried, but his underlying muscles. That was surprising enough that Mairon opened his eyes and raised his head to meet Aulë's compassionate gaze.

"You are so much more than these scars, my littlest one," Aulë said softly. "So much more." Mairon's eyes filled with tears.

"You never called me that," he whispered. Aulë gently caressed his face.

"No," he said. "But I should have. When you first began to serve me, I called you that in my head."

"I thought you didn't like me," Mairon said.

"Why did you think that, Mairon?" Aulë asked, pain in his voice. Mairon closed his eyes.

"Because you would never touch me. And you never praised me," he said.

"I thought you were frightened of me, my littlest one," Aulë said. "I did not touch you because I did not want to frighten you more. Later on, it had simply become a habit to not to touch you. As for praise... it is not something that comes naturally to me, Mairon. But you always did an excellent job with everything you did for me."

"You told Nyeleccaner I was useless," Mairon said, the trembling of his chin belying his emotionless tone. Aulë closed his eyes.

"You heard that?" he asked, his tone raw with pain. Mairon nodded, unable to speak.

"And you didn't stay to hear what I said next, did you," Aulë stated more than inquired. Mairon shook his head anyway.

"Marion, I refuted it in my next breath," Aulë said in a low tone. "And I said you were far from useless, that I was simply frustrated that you would not show more of your own initiative on projects."

"You did?" Mairon said, tears breaking loose. Aulë nodded.

"That is when... That is when I told Morgoth what he wanted to know," Mairon choked out. "Because I...I wanted to be useful to _someone_."

"Oh, my littlest one," Aulë murmured, holding the Maia tightly as he dropped his head to the Vala's chest and just cried. Cried for all he had lost because of a misunderstanding between him and the one person who could have protected him from a sadistic Vala's mind games, who could have made sure this whole nightmare had never happened. Aulë said nothing, simply held him until he had finally cried himself out.

"I wish I had known," Mairon finally whispered.

"I wish you had too," Aulë said softly, running a finger down the Maia's spine. "You would have been spared so much." Nothing more was said, Vala and Maia simply staying as they were, their damaged relationship slowly starting to heal.

"How do you want me to treat you?" Mairon finally asked, on the edge of sleep and not as inhibited as he normally would have been. Aulë smiled gently and placed a hand on the Maia's cheek.

"How about as a friend?" he asked softly. Mairon smiled.

"I would like that," he said shyly. Aulë caressed his face, brushing back his hair and running gentle fingers over his ear.

"So would I," he whispered. Mairon smiled drowsily, as he gave in to the emotional exhaustion he couldn't fight any longer. Aulë held him like that for a moment more, lost in thought, before silently calling Námo.

"He's incredibly special," Aulë said softly as Námo appeared.

"I know," Námo replied. "Aulë..." he said, watching the way the other Vala watched the small Maia in his arms. Aulë sighed.

"No, Námo," he said, standing and passing Mairon back to his lord. "You take much better care of him than I ever could." He smiled sadly, and ran his fingers down the side of the sleeping Maia's face once more.

"It is better this way," Aulë whispered, and quietly left. Námo watched him go, compassion on his face.

"Let's get you home, my little one," Námo murmured to the sleeping Maia in his arms. He thought them both back to Mairon's rooms in Mandos—not that Mairon had been sleeping there of late, Námo thought to himself with a brief flash of amusement. He carefully tucked the limp Maia into his bed and left Mairon to his rest, knowing that if the Maia needed him, he would call.

A few hours later, when Námo went to check on the Maia, he was surprised to find that he was not in his bed. Námo quickly extended his senses and found the Maia in one of the small gardens attached to Mandos. Námo thought himself there, and found Mairon sitting on the ground near a small fountain, staring at the interplay of light and water. Námo said nothing, merely sat at Mairon's side and waited to see if he would speak. He wasn't disappointed.

"Aulë doesn't think I'm useless," Mairon said, breaking the silence. "And he never did. Morgoth...Despite everything, he found me useful. And you assure me that I have worth as well. Which means the only person who ever found me worthless was myself." He looked at Námo.

"I'm not worthless?" he asked, needing one last confirmation. Námo smiled. "Quite the opposite, Mairon," he assured the Maia. Mairon smiled.

"I think I am finally starting to believe you," he said.

* * *

"Nyeleccaner won't help us," Métimo spat. His wife Meássë raised a contemptuous eyebrow.

"I thought you weren't going to ask him yet," she said.

"I haven't," Métimo snarled.

"Then how do you know he won't?" Meássë shot back. Métimo slammed both fists into the wall.

"Because Aulë has forgiven the little brat," he hissed. "And Nyeleccaner, no matter how much he hates Mairon, won't go against even his lord's implied orders."

"Your brother _is_ Aulë's chief Maia," Meássë pointed out. "They all tend to be like that." She suddenly smiled rather predatorily.

"Of course, for us, our lord has always hunted the creatures of darkness," she said smugly. "Why should things be different now?" Métimo chuckled, calming down, and came to wrap an arm around Meássë, who pushed him away. He merely chuckled again, and grabbed her from behind, holding her wrists so she couldn't scratch him and pulling her close to him, ignoring her angry hiss.

"How useful for us, my love," he said. "And there are still plenty of Maiar on our side. Besides, Eönwë leaves tomorrow. The Valar cannot watch Mairon constantly, so with Eönwë gone, the little brat will be vulnerable."

"It sounds like there is no reason to worry about it until tomorrow," Meássë spat, struggling to pull free of Métimo's hold. He smiled down at her.

"Oh, I do not think I will," he said speculatively.

* * *

**Yes, Meássë's name is from the Book of Lost Tales, and her character is basically the same. As ****always, please review!**


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

"Have fun, Eönwë!" Mairon said. "I'll miss you. Don't eat too much of the Edain's food and get fat!" Eönwë gave Mairon an exasperated look.

"I eat here and don't get fat," he retorted.

"Yes, but here you have sparring partners," Mairon pointed out. "There you won't."

"He has a point, Eönwë," Olórin commented. Eönwë glowered at them both and opened his mouth to say something rather rude, but Manwë broke in.

"That is enough, you three," the Elder King said. "Do you really wish to part with an argument?" The three Maiar fell silent, abashed.

"Are you ready then?" Manwë asked his herald. Eönwë nodded, and Manwë embraced him briefly but firmly before the little party thought themselves to the docks. It had been decided it would be better for Eönwë to show up by ship, rather than appearing from 'nowhere', as the mortals would see it.

Ilmarë was already there, her haughty disapproval of Mairon's presence obvious, which caused the younger Maia to edge into his older brother, who wrapped an arm around him. Eönwë sent her a half stern, half pleading look, and she softened, but only slightly.

"Goodbye, Eönwë," she said sincerely. "At least this time I have the consolation that you are not heading for war, but to teach peace."

"Farewell, Ilmarë," Eönwë replied, embracing her. "I shall not be gone long." Ilmarë nodded and stepped back. Eönwë nodded to Olórin and Mairon, to whom he had already said his goodbyes, and bowed formally to his lord.

"Farewell, Eönwë," Manwë said. "May you find success and joy in your service."

"I thank you, my lord," Eönwë replied. "With your leave?"

"Go with my blessing," Manwë said. Eönwë bowed and walked down the dock to the small ship.

"So do I get to blow you all the way to Middle-earth?" Ossë asked from where he lounged half in and half out of the water. Eönwë shot him a look.

"No, Ossë, you may not," he said firmly.

"Do not worry, my lord, I am the one actually responsible for getting you to Middle-earth," a female Maia named Airemír sighed. "Ossë is merely being irresponsible, as usual."

"If Uinen wouldn't give me grief for it, I'd give you storms all the way there," Ossë muttered. Airemír shot him a look.

"Our lord would hardly allow it," she retorted.

"Enough, you two," Eönwë interrupted. "I do need to actually _get_ to Middle-earth sooner or later."

"Of course, my lord," Airemír focused again promptly, and soon the ship was on its way to Middle-earth.

Mairon sighed from where he was standing, leaning into Olórin, partially in sadness over Eönwë's departure, partially in relief as Ilmarë left as well.

"What more does she want," Olórin muttered.

"I can't expect everyone to forgive me, Olórin," Mairon said softly.

"Perhaps not, but she was once your friend," Olórin answered in a low tone.

"I think that's why she cannot," Mairon said thoughtfully. "I think she might be more willing to forgive someone she knew less well, than accept and forgive that it was I who caused her pain and loss." Olórin looked down at Mairon in surprise.

"You have grown wise, little brother," he said. Mairon snorted.

"Hardly, Olórin," he said. "I have simply had very wise friends. It was bound to wear off on me eventually." The older Maia laughed and they thought themselves to Olórin's home in Lórien.

"I like it here," Mairon commented, sitting by the small waterfall, playing idly with the spray. "It reminds me of our first home in Eä. Is that why you chose it?" Olórin looked at him in surprise.

"You were the one who picked it out, with that exact reason. You lived here too, when we first came to Aman."

"Oh," Mairon said in shock, before he smiled wistfully.

"I guess it was a happy memory," he said softly. Olórin looked torn between hatred, anger, and sadness.

"Are those memories completely gone?" he asked softly. Mairon shook his head.

"Námo doesn't think so," he said. "But I'm still not strong enough for him to attempt to lift the bindings on my mind." Olórin hugged him.

"You will be," he promised. "And until then, you will make new memories." Mairon smiled.

"I am," he said.

* * *

"He's going to be attacked: the only question is where and when," Námo said.

"And you cannot see who they are or what they will do?" Manwë asked. Námo shook his head in frustration.

"So we don't know when this will occur, nor who will do it, or precisely what they will do, only that it will happen," Nessa summed up.

"If they have any intelligence at all, which I'm sure they do, they will put their plans into action soon," Vairë said. "The more time that lapses, the more secure Mairon becomes, so time is not on their side. With Eönwë gone, Mairon has just become more vulnerable. It is the perfect opportunity for them to strike, regardless of the form it takes."

"Vairë has a good point," Ulmo rumbled. "Eönwë was one of Mairon's most important protectors, especially among the Maiar. Mairon is, however, nearly equal to him in strength—but will he use it?"

"I don't know," Námo admitted. "He is doing much better, but he is still very hesitant and uncertain. If he were attacked, I do not know if he would defend himself. I am, however, going to give him full permission to do so. Truthfully, at this point, I would rather he fight back than be a helpless victim."

"Would that not risk bringing to the fore some of the darker elements of his nature?" Varda pertinently asked.

"It is a risk, but I truly doubt it will occur," Námo replied. "He fears the darkness he was once trapped in, and he does know the difference between defense and vengeance."

"Mairon never had a vindictive or spiteful nature," Aulë seconded.

"He competitive and driven, but always playful," Manwë agreed. "But that was before Melkor exposed him to such dark cruelties."

"Melkor did damage him," Yavanna remarked. "Will that play into this?"

"If he had not met Beren and Lúthien, I would consider that a much higher risk," Námo said. "But they did teach him what Mercy truly is, and I believe he will be true to those teachings. Their kindness shaped him nearly as much as Melkor's brutality. Without them, I doubt he wold be here at all, and he would certainly not be the same Maia he is now."

"I believe you are right, Námo," Manwë said softly. "So what can we do—and what should we do—to help Mairon in regard to the attacks we know will come?"

"I do not think we can stop them, so what remains is helping Mairon successfully cope with what will be brought against him," Námo replied. "The friendships he has will be vital there—and those are developing. He has Eönwë and Olórin, of course, and he has renewed his acquaintance with Melian. He has also begun to make friends among Vairë's and my Maiar, Istamírë and Nyárë included, though it is slower with those two. I think that is simply because they are our chief Maiar, and he doesn't know how to treat them. I don't think he was close to Nyeleccaner, and he certainly was not close to Gothmog. But Mairon has endeared himself to both Istamírë and Nyárë at any rate."

"And I have not sensed any animosity towards Mairon among my people or Námo's," Vairë added. "In fact, I have asked certain among my Maiar to look for that among our people as well, and they have reported nothing."

Vairë's people, with their skills in story and song, had proven the best at gathering information, and some had become the closest thing the Valar had to spies during the long war, Melkor's mistreatment of his people leaving the Valar unwilling to plant true spies in his ranks.

"They hear nothing of animosity towards Mairon then?" Varda asked. Vairë sighed quietly.

"I did not say that," she replied quietly.

"What have they heard, then?" Varda continued.

"They do not hear a lot because it is widely known that I care a good deal for Mairon, but it seems that the bulk of the resentment from the Maiar is coming from among Aulë, Oromë, Tulkas, and Nessa's people," Vairë said reluctantly. "Aulë's because Mairon was one of them when he fell, Oromë's because of their implacable hatred for all of Melkor's creatures, and Tulkas and Nessa's probably because of their close kinship ties with Oromë's people."

"That makes sense," Varda said calmly.

"We may want to let this all come to a head," Oromë said. "If it just simmers, we may never find out who's behind it. If we let it come out though, we will be able to figure out who's leading this whole thing and deal with them accordingly."

"I don't particularly care for the danger that puts Mairon in," Námo said.

"Do we have a choice to do otherwise?" Ulmo asked. "Short of locking Mairon in Mandos, we've already decided there is nothing we can do to stop him from being attacked."

"No one is asking you not to protect Mairon, Námo," Manwë said gently in response to the other Vala's frown. "But to really protect him, we need to figure out who is behind this. Mairon will weather this, you will see."

"I hope so," Námo sighed.

"Hope has changed the fate of the world," Manwë replied. "We have made it thus far. We will make it through this, as well."

* * *

"You're in a good mood, brother," Veryóron commented as the older Maia walked into the room.

"I am in a good mood," Métimo agreed. "Because Eönwë is gone, and that means Mairon is vulnerable."

"And that _is_ good news," Meássë said in a dry voice. Métimo ignored her.

"So what are we going to do?" Veryóron asked.

"Mairon has gotten too comfortable and complacent," Métimo mused. "I think some well-placed rumors should help dispel that. So to that end… Líssi. You overheard Eönwë tell Séretúrno that Mairon had been forced to become Melkor's catamite." Líssi blinked in surprise.

"But I didn't," she protested. Métimo resisted the urge to sigh.

"That doesn't matter," he explained. "All that matters is that people think Mairon was Melkor's little lover."

"Was he?" Líssi asked in a whisper, eyes big. This time Métimo did sigh.

"That doesn't matter either!" he snapped. "All you have to do is tell people that. Can you do that, or is it too hard for you?" Líssi blushed.

"I can do it," she mumbled.

"Good," Métimo said. "Now, what else can we spread…"

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**And things start rolling...please review!**


	9. Chapter 9

**This is it for a little while...you see, my wonderful beta has been on an Adventure these last six weeks, and this is the last chapter she was able to do before she left. But once she gets back, you'll get more. :) **

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Chapter Nine

"Olórin, you have to be the one to tell him," Melian said in a low voice.

"Right now, I'm just resisting the urge to swear," Olórin answered tightly.

"Whether you swear or not doesn't change the fact that Mairon needs to know what's being said about him before he simply overhears it, and he needs to hear it from you," Melian retorted.

"How am I supposed to tell him that some people are saying _that_ about him?" Olórin snapped.

"From whom would you prefer him to hear it?" Melian asked pointedly. Olórin glared at her, then deflated with a sigh.

"You're right," he said reluctantly.

"I'm always right," Melian muttered. "It's just that no one ever listens to me."

"I suppose I should go tell him now," Olórin said.

"The sooner, the better," Melian replied.

"Thank you, Melian, for telling me," Olórin said sincerely.

"I care about him too," Melian said softly.

"I know," Olórin replied, before thinking himself to his home in Lórien, from Melian's home there: a rather short trip. Mairon was sitting next to the waterfall, and he looked up with a smile at Olórin's arrival. One look at Olórin's face though, and the smile froze.

"What is the matter?" he asked tightly. Olórin sighed and sat down next to him.

"I don't really know how to tell you this, Mairon," Olórin admitted. "But there have been rumors going around. About you."

"What are they saying?" Mairon asked, that emotionless mask Olórin hated beginning to slide over his features.

"They are saying that the reason you were pardoned by the Valar was because Melkor tormented you in a more…ah…physical—manner," Olórin said, trying to say it calmly—and failing miserably.

"They're saying he raped me physically," Mairon spat, face dead. Olórin winced.

"More like that you were his lover," he admitted. Mairon's face went blank with what Olórin thought was shock. Then Námo appeared, and Olórin realized that Mairon had called his lord.

"Mairon? What is the matter?" Námo asked, pulling the Maia into his arms. Mairon's only response was a muffled scream of anger and pain. Námo looked to Olórin, demanding an explanation. Olórin shrugged helplessly.

"There are very vicious rumors going around," he explained. "About how Mairon was, ah, involved—with Melkor, ah—"

"In the only way he didn't hurt me!" Mairon finished.

"I see," Námo said. "I'm so sorry, Mairon."

"Why would they say such a thing?" Mairon asked plaintively. "Isn't the truth of what he actually did to me bad enough?" Námo sighed gently.

"Most of the Maiar do not know exactly what happened to you, Mairon," Námo said. "Your scars have become mostly common knowledge, but the fact Melkor violated your mind and soul is something known only to a few—and those few would not speak of it to others."

"I did not expect everyone to forgive me," Mairon whispered. "But I am not hurting them. Can they not just leave me alone?"

"We had hoped they would be that wise," Námo said. "But it appears that some have let their pain spill over into vindictive hatred."

"Then they are not going to stop," Mairon said tightly.

"Not until we compel them to," Námo agreed. "And before we can do that, we must first learn who they are."

"So what do I do?" Mairon asked.

"Live," Námo said simply. "Do not let them win. Those who know and love you will not believe these rumors. Those who sincerely want to know the truth will ask their lord or lady. And even among those who believe it, I think you will find that those with good hearts will be sympathetic towards you. So do not worry, Mairon. The truth will come out in the end. It always does." Mairon sighed.

"We just have to get there first," he commented.

"That we do," Námo agreed. "But no matter what happens, Mairon, remember that there are many who love you dearly."

"I will," Mairon replied.

"Would you like to stay with your brother, or come back to Mandos with me?" Námo asked, preparing to leave.

"Stay with you," Mairon replied, shooting Olórin an apologetic look.

"Good," Olórin said, smiling.

"Good?" Mairon asked in confusion.

"Yes," Olórin replied. "Your relationship with your lord is finally where it should be." He smiled and kissed Mairon's hair. All three stood, and Mairon took Námo's hand as they thought themselves home. Once they were gone, Olórin's smile vanished, and his eyes hardened.

"Now to find those who think it's alright to spread _those_ sorts of lies about my little brother…" he muttered.

Once back in Mandos, Mairon was surprised to find that Námo had taken them to the part of the halls housing the fëar of those who had perished in childhood.

"My lord?" he asked in confusion. Námo simply smiled at him, leading him to a large open space where many of the children were playing.

"Lord Námo!" several of the boldest children cried, leaving their games to run towards the Vala. Námo smiled at them.

"Hello, my little ones," Námo said. "Are you having fun?" The fëar nodded enthusiastically.

"Good," Námo said. "This is Mairon. He's here to play with you." Instantly the children's attention turned to the Maia.

"You're going to play with us?" one of them asked Mairon, who smiled and got down on his knees to be more at their level.

"I guess I am," he said. "What are we playing?"

"Catch-me! You're it!" one cried, smacking Mairon on the shoulder. The children all scattered, shrieking in laughter. Mairon stayed where he was for a moment, frozen in shock, before he laughed himself, got up, and started chasing after them.

Námo chuckled as he watched more and more of the fëar being drawn into the game. These children would be good for Mairon—they would help him regain some of his own lost childhood, as well as help take his mind off the rumors that had begun, and their darker implications. Speaking of the Maia… Námo watched with faint suspicion as a young fëa Mairon had just been whispering to ran over to him.

"Yes?" he asked, the little one's face torn between impish amusement and apprehension. Amusement won out: the child ran forward and poked the Vala in the knee before backing off a few paces.

"You're it," the child informed Námo, who realized the entire room had paused to watch this spectacle.

"Am I?" Námo asked the child solemnly. The child nodded, beginning to look a little more nervous. Námo smiled.

"Well then, you had better run," Námo said. Laughing, the child complied, and the whole room spun back into happy commotion as Námo took off after Mairon, who he knew was behind the whole idea. It took a little while for the Vala to catch the ingenuitive little Maia, but finally Námo snagged Mairon and began to tickle him mercilessly. Mairon laughed helplessly, nearly turning blue before Námo stopped to let him breathe. It took him a few moments to catch his breath, and then he looked up at Námo, who smiled at him.

"You're it," was all the Vala said, and the game resumed. Eventually, though, the fëar tired, and were collected by their Maiarin attendants. Soon, all had been shepherded back to their own rooms to rest. Only Námo and Mairon were left, Mairon in Námo's arms.

"That was fun," Mairon commented.

"You are absolutely impudent," Námo said in mock sternness.

"I don't know what you are talking about," Mairon replied innocently. "You looked like you wished to join the game, so I gave you an excuse to do so." Námo snorted.

"You simply wished to see me act like a child," he said. Mairon grinned.

"That too," he said smugly. "Did you have fun?" Námo laughed softly.

"I did," he admitted.

"And it will make a lovely tapestry," Vairë remarked as she entered.

"You wouldn't," Námo said. Vairë just smirked at him.

"Are the two of you ready to go?" she asked.

"Go?" Mairon echoed in confusion.

"Yes, we are ready," Námo responded.

"Everything is in order," Vairë informed him.

"Then let us go," Námo answered.

"Go?" Mairon repeated himself. Námo just smiled at him, took his hand to pull him to his feet, then thought both of them to Lórien, Vairë following. When they arrived Mairon's jaw dropped. A large bonfire roared cheerfully in the middle of a small clearing. Seated around it were Olórin; Melian; Istamírë and her husband, Almaron; Nyárë; their brother Séretúrno; his wife, Failien; Irmo; Estë; and…

"Finrod!" Mairon said in surprise. The Elf smiled.

"Hello, Mairon," he said. "It is good to see you again."

"But what…what is all this?" Mairon asked, laughter in his voice, as Námo and Vairë took seats around the fire as well, Námo pulling Mairon into his lap.

"Well, I was in Lórien, and I thought I might as well get to see all of my friends among the Maiar, so we set this up," Finrod said. He didn't mention that the bonfire was actually Námo's idea, as the Vala wanted Mairon to have a tangible reminder of all the good still in his life.

Mairon's delight was contagious, and Melian looked happier than she had since her return to the West, as ridiculous stories were shared and good times relived. Many of these tales had occurred before the waking of the Elves, and Finrod learned more that night about what life had been like for the Ainur during that time than he had ever even heard of. The Ainur rarely talked about that time, at least to the Eldar, and Finrod now suspected that he might know more about their lives at that time than any other Elf.

The evening didn't end until Mairon was completely asleep in Námo's arms with a smile still on his face, Melian was almost that way, leaning into Estë, who had an arm around her, Istamírë had her head on Almaron's shoulder, Séretúrno was sprawled on the ground with his head in his wife, Failien's, lap, and Finrod was leaning back against a convenient tree, not too far from sleep himself.

"Well, I suppose we need to get half of these children to bed, and the rest have other things they need to do, I'm sure," Námo said softly, with a pointed look at Séretúrno, who sighed.

"Always someone to remind me to be responsible," he commented with a mock sigh. Failien whacked him lightly on the head.

"You don't need to give Eönwë any more headaches," she scolded him.

"Eönwë's in Middle-earth," Séretúrno pointed out.

"Then who's in charge right now?" Failien asked.

"Of all the Maiar? Ilmarë," he replied. "Of those of us who serve Lord Manwë, Súrien is, actually."

"And do you really want to get on her bad side?" Failien asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Good point," Séretúrno said. "Alright, I get it, I'm going. You don't want me around anymore, I get it…" Failien rolled her eyes while the others laughed softly.

"You know I love you, no matter how ridiculous you are," Failien replied. "But you do need to go serve your lord." Séretúrno didn't reply verbally, but kissed her and thought himself away.

"I don't know how you put up with him sometimes, Failien," Istamírë said. "And he's my brother."

"Well, she is a lot more patient than you are," Námo told his chief Maia, fond amusement in his tone.

"Which is why she is in charge of the Fëanorionnath…if that is the reward for patience, I'm not seeing why I should bother," Istamírë replied with a grin. Failien laughed softly.

"They're really not so bad, Istamírë," she said. "And any time they are…I just send for you." Laughter again traveled around the group.

"Speaking of the Fëanorionnath, my lord, do you want me to continue visiting Maedhros now that Mairon is working with him?" Failien asked Námo.

"Yes, I think I do," Námo said thoughtfully. "I am hoping that Mairon will be able to help Maedhros see things in a different way, and that because of that he will be more open to you, as well."

"Then I will visit him tomorrow…though I suppose I should say 'later today' by now," Failien replied, with a glance at the stars.

"Well then, the party's over, since Finrod is supposed to be heading back to Tirion tomorrow…and I don't want to have to listening to Námo's whining if he falls asleep on his horse and breaks his neck," Irmo said with a smirk.

"Please, my lord, your lack of confidence is wounding," Finrod protested. "…My horse is far more intelligent than that." One more round of laughter, and the group finally broke up, some heading for rest, others for labor, but all with smiles on their faces.

And through it all, Mairon slept on, his own smile never dimming.

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**As always, please review! They feed the muse! :) **


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